


[Witty Mythology Pun]

by flamiefinnigan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamiefinnigan/pseuds/flamiefinnigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ok this is based off of an AU tumblr user lomonte started and i just couldn't contain myself so yeah</p>
            </blockquote>





	[Witty Mythology Pun]

**Author's Note:**

> Jean why

If this was a movie, it'd probably start out with some sort of music montage of me waking up and getting ready for the day and whatever crap. However, as you may have noticed (since you are reading this rather than watching it), this is not a movie. Plus, a montage of my morning routine would be hella depressing, because, well, I live in Hell. Literally. To clarify, I rule over it. Yeah, I had a one in three chance, me against my two brothers, and I drew the short straw. (Again, literally.)

But hey, being the kind of Hell isn't all that bad. Actually, leading souls through the Underworld was kind of a humbling experience, at least for the first couple millennia. After that, it becomes routine and you don't pity them anymore. (Like, 'Yeah, I'm sorry about your wife, but was following her really necessary?') The sob stories used to be touching, but now it's just more work for me. Solitude gets to people, I suppose. 

Me, I've got solitude down to a science. Sure, there's a practically infinite number of dead people hanging around, but that doesn't count. Being a god, and therefore being immortal, definitely has its downsides. On top of that, my visage probably wards off anyone who won''t die in the next few short decades. Is a wardrobe comprised entirely of black really that unfriendly? (Don't answer that.) Hey, I try to keep it classy with a button-up shirt and tie. My skinny jeans and ("ridiculous") two-toned undercut probably cancel out my attempts, though. And plenty of people have ill feeling toward the holes below my bottom lip. 

I crash on the couch in front of about 70 or so TV screens, all of them showing me some scene on Earth. I start aimlessly flipping through channels. waiting for some poor dude to die so I'll have something to do. It sounds terrible, but hey, it's my job. Plus, humans are so - whoa hey, what was that?

For a second I'm not sure why this scene caught my eye. I mean, it's just this dude sitting in the middle of a field of flowers like some prissy schoolgirl. He's even dressed like a schoolgirl, with khaki shorts and an (unbuttoned) pastel flower print shirt. Guy's accumulated quite a collection of flower crowns, which I can only assume he made, and I briefly wonder what he plans on doing with them all when it clicks. 

That's Ymir's kid. 

Which is funny. I was completely under the impression that Ymir's kid was a chick. I have to give myself creds, though; this guy is extremely feminine. 

And really attractive. 

As much as I despise him, I call up my older brother. Hey, if you're gonna whine, whine to the guy in charge. 

"Jean, what do you want?"

"This guy on my screen. That's Ymir's son, right?"

There's a pause. "Yes." He sighs. "His name is Marco. Now tell me, what are you up to?"

"He's hella fine," I say, dodging his question. 

"Is that so? Would you like me to run that through his mother, then?" I hear him pull the phone away from his ear.

"No, Erwin- Augh." He's already hung up. Jerk. I could hear the treachery in his voice. I can understand why his wife's so messed up in the head. 

Well, there goes that. Ymir is crazy clingy. There's no hope for me now. Phoning the almight supreme overlord (as I'm sure the king of the gods would rather be called) did nothing but dig me a deeper hole. 

I turn back to the screen and realize that Ymir is, in fact, sitting on a park bench a few yards away from her son, pulling a cell phone out of the pocket of her overalls. Yeah, I'm so screwed. I look at Marco, now talking animatedly to a butterfly, and my chest aches. 

Then I get an idea.


End file.
